Development
Woe to those who
add house to house and join field to field, until there is no more room, so
that you have to live alone in the midst of the land!
-Isaiah 5:8
Production, Consumption,
and Space
If
you could go back in time to the mid-sixteenth century and land in what is now
Eastern Virginia, you would encounter six tribes of indigenous people who
collectively belonged to a political and trade network called the Powhaton
Confederacy. They used beads and tobacco as forms of currency in some trade,
but no one depended upon either for their livelihood. By and large, they lived
through a combination of subsistence farming, hunting, and gathering. They also
did some very limited mining of copper for bead-making and tools. Subsistence
farms grew corn, beans, and squash as staple crops, supplemented by fruits,
nuts, fish, and game gathered from the local environment. Houses were generally
one room, constructed of saplings, leather, and bark. As with many other
subsistence cultures, production and consumption overwhelmingly happened in the
same place.
Compare this to our own lives, where
we consume what has been produced from all over the world, where
general-purpose money has made this possible, and where our dependence upon
money is nearly absolute. One of the
mental tricks played by this space-separation between production and consumption is concealment of relations that are out of sight and out of mind.
Helga Weisz, head of
Transdisciplinary Research for the Potsdam Institute of Climate Impact Research
and Professor of Ecology at Humboldt University in Berlin, uses the metaphor of
metabolism to track flows and nodes. She does so in the context of world systems theory, an acknowledgement that we live in an economy that includes many
nation-states, or an interstate economy.
In biology, metabolism means “the processes by which a living organism uses
food to obtain energy and build tissue and disposes of waste material.”[1] In social studies,
metabolism means paying attention to inputs and outputs, or flows and nodes.
World systems analysis looks at those flows, those inputs and outputs, across
the world. Weisz:
World-systems
theory regards the expansion of the industrial capitalist system as
intrinsically connected to a spatial separation, on a global scale, between the
early and the later stages of the industrial production process, and between
production and consumption in general . . . lead[ing] to a globally uneven
distribution of the costs and benefits of the use of material and energy . . .
I argue that an integration of social metabolism and input-output analyses
provides a conceptually sound approach to account for ecologically unequal
trade between national economies or world regions.[2]
Dr. Weisz has just summarized how to explain not only environmental damage but extreme
social inequalities, facilitated by money as an ecological phenomenon.
There is a common argument that
neither the world system nor the ecological crisis we are experiencing is “capitalist,”
because the Soviet and Chinese economies were/are “communist.” This is actually
a deceptive argument, because both these economies, apart from their own
rhetoric, employed the same means for development as capitalist economies, and
were in fact both deeply dependent upon trade relations with named-capitalist
economies. Deng Xiaoping of China is one of the founding fathers of neoliberal capitalism.[3] The world systems
perspective looks at the world economy as a whole. And as Jason Moore,
Professor of Sociology at Binghamton University points out,
It is difficult for me to read the
Soviet project as a fundamental rupture. The great industrialization drive of
the 1930s relied massively on the importation of fixed capital, which by 1931
constituted 90 percent of Soviet imports. The Soviets were so desperate to
obtain hard currency that “the state was prepared to export anything and
everything, from gold, oil and furs to the pictures in the Hermitage Museum”.
If the Soviet project resembles other modes of production, it is surely the
tributary, not socialist, mode of production, through which the state directly
extracts the surplus. Nor did the Soviets turn inwards after 1945. Soviet trade
with OECD countries (in constant dollars) increased 8.9 percent annually
between 1950 and 1970, rising to 17.9 percent a year in the following decade a trend accompanied by sharply deteriorating
terms of trade and rising debt across the Soviet-led zone.[4]
One of the main errors of Marxism
generally, in its criticism of capitalism, was its failure to account for
industrial machinery itself as a flow-node that concealed its background
realities, what we have repeatedly referred to here as the out of sight and out of mind problem. More importantly still, Marxism
failed to account for general-purpose money as an ecological phenomenon that disembeds, or dissolves ecosystems and
communities, because it is a sign without a referent to tell it (pun intended), "The buck stops here.." So when we describe the world system as capitalist, we are saying
that these anti-capitalist projects failed because of the illusions they shared
with capitalism itself. They continued to believe that they could cleanly
separate culture from nature. One can very easily argue that today’s China is a
capitalist powerhouse, regardless of what they call themselves. It is an
authoritarian (capitalist) market economy very much like Pinochet’s Chile.[5]
Centers and Margins
I
live in a town of around 24,000 souls, the commercial center for a farming
county, which also has a hospital and three colleges. There were once a lot of
union-wage factory jobs nearby in Toledo and Detroit that supplemented farm
income, and this town then bustled with activity. Factories, however, were
shifted into regions around the world where accumulation could be increased
through steeper under-compensation,
that is, cheaper labor; and this town has many abandoned buildings and closed
shopfronts. The farms have mostly been consolidated into giant monocrop
operations leased by transnational corporations, and the farmers themselves
raise these cash crops by strict rules laid down by those corporations.
If I go to a real estate site on the
web and ask for houses that are priced above $300,000 (very high for this
town), all but one the listings show up on a map in the southeastern quadrant
of town, with on midway along the east, and close to the Country Club. If you
drive through our town from east to west along the main east-west thoroughfare,
the houses and neighborhoods become shabbier the further west you travel, and this
end of town is also where most of the factories and warehouses, as well as
toxic superfund sites are. Money as an entitlement helped to create this map,
which we might call a center-margin map. The center is where the good stuff
flows into, and the margins are where
the bad stuff flows out-to. Those
with more money-entitlements live in a kind of center in the west, and those
with far fewer money-entitlements live in the east. Those in the west tend to work
for those in the east. The east gets clean and pretty, and the west gets dirty
and ugly. If you map where you live, you will find something similar; and if
you live in a big city, you probably have a third region that is a throwaway
region, with “surplus people,” that is, people the economy doesn’t want or need
anymore—areas of extremely high unemployment, environmental toxicity, and
crime. This latter is the margin of the margin, or the falloff region. In the triad
between Miami, Santo Domingo, and Port-au-Prince, the U.S. is the center, the
Dominican Republic is the margin, and Haiti is the fall-off zone. Within Miami itself,
these three zones also exist.
Centers exist parasitically on
margins, and as margins are debilitated by their parasites, more people become
fall-off zones, the center contracts, and those near the center become the new
margins, or parasite-hosts.
Center-margin can be mapped at
differing scales. Mississippi is an extremely poor state compared to
Connecticut, but inside each there are center-margins by region, by county, by
city. Center-margin is not a place, even though we can map it; it is a
relationship. Seen metabolically, as form of metabolism, as “the processes by
which a living organism uses food to obtain energy and build tissue and
disposes of waste material,” the center-margin relationship is the result of
the good stuff flowing one way and the bad stuff flowing the other way with the
center as the exchange node. The benefits remain at the center and the waste
goes to the margin. The mapping of flows is what Helga
Weisz calls “material flow analysis.” What gets imported? What gets exported?
Import Export
Saudi
Arabia once supplied the rest of the region with wheat. Yes, wheat. Most people
don’t think of Saudi Arabia as a wheat producer, because it is largely desert.
But beneath that desert is a massive underground network of aquifers, or
underground lakes. While Saudi Arabia has between 5 and 8 billion cubic meters
of surface water, it has almost 2.3 trillion cubic meters underground.[6] These supplied the water
for wheat production. By 2009, Saudi Arabia began importing more wheat than it
grew for itself; and by 2016, it was importing around 99 percent. The saying
went, they were “selling hydrocarbons to buy carbohydrates.” This was a huge
opportunity for Ag giants like Cargill in the U.S., which could sell U.S.
taxpayer-subsidized wheat in ever greater volumes to the Saudis.[7] The largest oil field in
the world is Ghawar, in Saudi Arabia, and it produces around 65 percent of all
Saudi oil. Ghawar production began to fall in the 1990s, and in 2006 it began
falling precipitously. Pool oil wells with “sweet crude”[8] like Ghawar begin
production under their own pressure; but over time, as the contents are pumped
out, the pressure falls. The Saudi solution to that problem is water injection.[9] They inject large amounts
of water, pulled from aquifers, into the margins of the fields in order to
bring the pump pressure back up. That water is then irreversibly polluted and
lost to other human uses; and it has depleted Saudi aquifers, contributing to
the loss of wheat production.
The largest and richest remaining
hereditary monarchy in the world, Saudi Arabia routinely employs violent
population control measures to its own people, including public beheadings, to
ensure its own stability as an international energy hub. Moreover, it regularly
engages in open bribery, and initiates as well as intervenes in conflicts
throughout the region to secure that stability.[10]
As this is written the United States
imports $53 billion a year in oil from Saudi Arabia, and in return exports $115
billion in weapons to Saudi Arabia, with whom the U.S. is formally and informally
allied in multiple military and diplomatic conflicts. A starker example of the regional
import of order (negentropy) and the export of disorder (pollution, water
depletion, authoritarian corruption, and war) would be hard to find.
The Trees
In
February 1996, when Sarajevo, Bosnia-Herzegovina was the epicenter of the civil
wars resulting from Balkan politico-economic disintegration, the flows of fuels
into the city were disrupted by ambushes and snipers along all the routes into
the city. The temperatures dropped, the snow accumulated, and within days,
people began cutting down the trees in the parks to obtain firewood.[11]
In the 1990s and 2000s, I spent a
good deal of time in Haiti and the Dominican Republic, which share the same
island, Hispaniola. Haiti had been serially raped since the colonial period,
including massive deforestation to harvest precious hardwood and clear land for
sugar, coffee, and sisal. The Dominican Republic suffered some of those
extractive depredations, but it became a client state of the United States and
a tourist destination, while Haiti was exploited and left along the figurative
roadside. One of the policies of the Dominican government was to subsidize
bottled gas for its citizens to prevent them cutting the forests that attracted
tourists. Haiti had no such policy, especially since it was subjected to a
series of political coups that disrupted any political continuity. If you look
at a satellite photograph of the Haitian-Dominican border, you can actually see
the border in the contrast between the forested Dominican Republic and
deforested Haiti. In the absence of any fuel supplies or subsidies, Haitians
largely rely on charcoal to cook; and cook they must, because their staple
grain is rice. Charcoal is produced by cutting woody material, even brush, and
subjecting it to a flameless burn underground. The demand for charcoal, and the
small amount of money available to charcoal producers—extremely poor,
low-status, hardworking people called chabonye—has
created a condition wherein the brush and trees are being cut at earlier and
earlier stages, accelerating the desertification, or transformation to desert,
of Haiti. The relative affluence of Dominicans compared to Haitians has also
created a situation in which Dominican sugar and tobacco growers employ Haitian
laborers at rock-bottom wages and in slave-like conditions; and Dominicans have
been socialized to dislike and disrespect Haitians almost as a lower life form.
Ramification.
Higher rates of deforestation often
correspond to lower “levels of development.” This has led many people to assume
that the more industrialized and “advanced” nations have superior environmental
practices. And it is true that the most stringent and well-enforced
environmental protection laws are in the “developed” nations. But we can see that this is a confusion of correlation with causation.
Just because two things exist together does not mean that one is the cause of
the other.
In 86 BCE, Rome had a million
inhabitants. By the fourth century CE,
it had a million and a half. Wood was used for buildings, heating, cooking,
baths, cement, plaster, glass, cart-making, and ship-building. Wood was
depleted locally, then the harvesting activities spread, first to 100
kilometers, then 500, and the rivers were then put to use to float timbers from
afar. Harvests spread to Sicily, to the Appenines in the north, to Macedonia,
to Asia Minor, to Egypt, to Gaul, to the Black Sea, and the Iberian Peninsula.
Many of these areas remain deforested to this day. Rome was the center, and the exploitable, extractable
margins radiated outward.[12]
A quarter of Brazil’s Amazonian
forests have been lost. In 1970, that number was one percent. Amazonia is now
very close to a “point of no return” for ecosystem collapse. The acceleration
of deforestation in Brazil’s Amazonia has been caused in large part by timber
for export, beef for export, soy beans for export, and sugar for ethanol to
offset petroleum shortages.[13] China buys Brazilian
timber to make products, using its own cheap labor, to sell in the United
States, in order to accumulate U.S. dollars. Brazil exports more beef on
international markets than any country in the world.[14] McDonald’s is one of the
main beneficiaries of Brazilian soy, which is as Cargill (a U.S. agri-giant) feed
for the raise-fast-to-kill chickens used in its chicken nuggets.[15]
This is the reason we need world system analysis and the tracking
of flows and nodes. When a tree falls in the forest, it is heard around the
world. Deforestation is nearly always a product of environmental load
displacement; and that means the benefit goes one place and the cost goes
another. This is never an equal exchange. The average Brazilian earns about a
quarter of what an average American does. More than twenty-one percent of
Brazilians live on less than two dollars a day.[16]
War on Subsistence
"Development,” which is difference
over space (Brazil, 2017; the United States, 2017), is spoken of as a difference
over time, or “in stages.” This misrepresentation serves to fix our gaze on one point at a time as a way of
making us ignore a larger reality of relationships.
The
current fashion . . . is to dissolve any distinction between the modern and the
premodern as a modern fabrication . . . The rather remarkable implication is
that, in the course of the emergence of urban-industrial civilization, no
significant changes have been taking place in terms of social relations,
knowledge construction, or human-environmental relations. The closely knit
kinship group, locally contextualized ecological knowledge, attachment to
place, reciprocity, animism: all of them are suddenly dismissed as myth. With
the displacement of the old narrative, represented most forcefully by Karl
Polanyi, emerges the new but implicit message that we have always been
capitalists.[17]
The Polanyi who blew up this
“implicit message” wrote a book called The
Great Transformation, the publication of which was eclipsed by the end of
World War II. The narrative of economics, and even the narrative of pop
culture, is that everyone has always been essentially the same; and that the
emergence of a market-dominated society was the result of removing the dead
weight of authority and superstition from the past. In fact, nothing could be
further from the truth, as Polanyi showed with his history of the violent and
intentional process over decades to impost the so-called “self-regulating
market” on the whole of society.
We have been covering two key
Polanyian concepts in this book so far: the multiple forms of exchange
(reciprocity, redistribution, householding), and the phenomenon of disembedding,
in Polanyi’s case of people being disembedded from non-market relationships
like family, home town, etc., and re-embedded in strictly market relationships.
Polanyi was a Hungarian intellectual living in Germany, before Hitler’s rise in
1933 convinced him to become a scholar in residence at Bennington College in
Vermont. He later taught at Columbia University.
In The
Great Transformation, he described the two-pronged process of enclosure and
regulation that were employed by modern states to remove people from non-market
driven communities and networks, especially those that gave people a degree of
independence from the need for money to survive. People did not voluntarily
leave their subsistence farms in the countryside to live in the city and work
for wages in a factory. In fact, they fought that at every turn. They had to be
legally and forcibly removed from the means of subsistence, especially land, in
order to force them into emerging labor markets.[18]
Whereas the "Inclosure Laws" of Great
Britain were originally a system of combining many small farms under the
control of many families into large holdings by one person (and evicting the
rest) in order to support the wool export trade, the term “enclosure” is now
used as a catch-all for any legal-policy action that transfers small holdings
of public commons into private hands with the result of forcing former
inhabitants into dependency on wage labor. Privatization is a form of
enclosure. Intellectual property laws are forms of enclosure. Enclosure might
be defined for our purposes as any law that intentionally separates people from
their means of subsistence to produce greater dependency money through approved
market relations. All privatization is enclosure.
Ecological feminists Maria Mies and
Veronika Bennholdt-Thomsen called modern development “the war on subsistence.”
In
the North and, since 1945, increasingly in the rest of the world, everything
that is connected with the immediate creation and maintenance of life, and also
everything that is not arranged through the production and consumption of
commodities, has been devalued. This includes all activities whose object is self-provisioning,
whether in the house, the garden the workshop, on the land or in the stable.
What doesn’t cost or doesn’t produce money is worthless. This devaluation of
self-provisioning work cannot be understood, if measured only quantitatively.
It indicates at the same time the degradation and contempt of the person who
does this work . . . This barrier of disgust[19], which today surrounds
all unpaid, essential-for-life subsistence activities, has no relation to the
content of this work. Such activities are suddenly recognized as decent
professions, not only for women but also for men, if they are carried out by
industrialized, waged labour . . . high esteem for wage labour obviously rest
on the high evaluation of money and on its myth. Not the image of money as a
simple medium of exchange or measure of value, but of the money that creates
ever more money which then becomes the basis of life, security for life and the
hope of progress, emancipation, culture, and the ‘good life’ . . . He/she who does not work for wages cannot
live.[20]
Ivan Illich likewise identified “progress”
or “development” as a systematic war on subsistence. Illich had a unique way of
referring to subsistence activities. He called them “vernacular.” With regard
to language, the term vernacular
means the way that ordinary people speak which may not conform to more formal
grammatical rules. Illich described vernacular community and vernacular
practices as those that were rooted in householding
forms of economy, in friendships, and in the most common forms of social
reciprocity.
What is interesting about Illich is that
he again describes the loss of the vernacular to a process of “radical
monopolization,” or enclosure—cultural,
political, economic, through increasing institutionalization, as the hallmark
of modernity; but he again traces its gestation and development back into his
own church. Christianity in power, the church as an institution, practiced a
form of enclosure of the church as a
people of God. Moreover, he directly associates the imposition of “grammatical”
language with the emergence of the imperial nation-state which has overseen a
500 year “war on subsistence.”
As the Western Roman Church came to power,
and in confronting Western Europe’s unstable feudal political ecology within which
to exercise that power, sin came to be treated as a matter of law. It was
“criminalized,” in Illich’s words, which gave the Church the aspect of what
would eventually come to be that of the modern nation-state. It attempted, as
we noted in the first chapter, “to insure, to guarantee, to regulate Revelation,”
to enforce by law the radical freedom that was gifted to humanity by the
Incarnation. In other words, it “institutionalized” grace, and thereby
perverted it.[21]
By 1492, when Isabella of Castile had married
Ferdinand II of Aragon and consolidated their rule over present-day Spain in a
series of bloody wars and pogroms, Isabella consented to financing an
ill-conceived expedition by Cristobal Colon (Christopher Columbus) to open a
westward seaway to South Asia. Colon, who had wildly overestimated the distance
to the horizon used this miscalculation to determine he would reach India in
around 2,400 miles across the Atlantic Ocean. In the same year, she was
approached by a scholar named Elio Antonio de Nebrija who had composed a book
of Spanish grammar, who suggested to her that the standardization of language
within her nation-state and throughout her future empire was as essential as
arms. He told her that “language is the consort of empire.” Illich tells these
parallel stories, in spite of the fact that Isabella did not comprehend what
Nebrija was saying about language, just as Colon never realized that
Hispaniola, the island he first landed upon that eventually became Haiti and
the Dominican Republic, was not in India. Illich simply uses this story to show
two aspects of the modern empires, which would center on nation-states, which
indeed did come to work in tandem.
As Christendom gave way to secular
modernity, the empires of Europe did indeed require both arms and language to
establish their power. Nebrija understood better than Isabella that the “loose
and unruly” vernacular speech of the heterogeneous peasantry made them more
difficult to rule and bend to the purposes of the state. The authoritarian church,
who had called itself the Mother of its members, lost ground to the state, and
the state adopted churchy terms to supplant the church. This was where the term
“mother tongue” originated, the nation-state as the new Mother, and its
language standardized to bleed off the subversive potential of vernacular
tongues which contained vernacular values and vernacular relations. In support of the centralization of power, language
itself was enclosed, and the first grammar
books as well as the first schools were designed to stamp out vernacular
languages and with them vernacular allegiances.[22]
These changes corresponded in time
and place to a changing political economy. Subsistence, and what Mies calls
“the subsistence perspective,” came to be an obstacle to expansion and
commodification as well as a threat to the imperatives of nation-states that
increasingly depended upon and became subordinate to those who had most
successfully accumulated money. A community that produces all it needs for
food, fuel, clothing, and shelter is not populated by people who willingly work
in factories or take up arms for the state. Their environments provide them
with most of what they need, abundantly in many cases.
Empires are comprised of consuming
centers and exploitable margins, margins that must expand as resources are exhausted.
The need for more arms, more ships, etc., leads to the intensification of
exploitation, the competitively driven search for greater production and
velocity, and thereby for more of that essential accelerating sign: money. The
peasants must be removed from the land, the land converted to wealth
accumulation, and the subsistence economies broken up to provide labor to the
mills. This war on subsistence was vastly
accelerated around the world after World War II during something given the Orwellian name "the Green Revolution."
Dependency
We’ve
circled around this; now let’s lay it out. We are nearer to subsistence—understood
in a good way—as production and consumption are closer together in space. This
is also and ultimately the only way we can dramatically reduce our utter
dependency on general-purpose money. Right now, my dependency and yours is
based on the threefold reality that (1) all our goods and all our built
environment are organized around the need for materials, land, labor, and
energy that are often thousands of miles distant, (2) these goods and this
built environment, including the technology, cannot extract these materials,
land, labor, and energy from their original contexts without the solvent of
general-purpose money, and (3) we ourselves, given the specialization of our
built environment and our work, no longer have the capacity to survive without
money. The simplest thought exercise here is to try an imagine surviving
through today without it, through the week, through the month. What was done to
those English peasants between the twelfth and twentieth centuries, which
eventually wiped them out as a class that practiced subsistence, has been done
to all of us. We have been enclosed.
Once you are in the position where you must have those dollars to live, you
have become dependent upon those who have dollars to spare. Money, which serves
them as an entitlement, now entitles them to your time and space and sweat.
This immediacy of need, the very fact that we can no longer survive without
serving those with more money than we have, forces us into the manifold moral
compromises that thoughtful people struggle with every day. I hate automobiles.
They are destructive, dirty, dangerous, and expensive. As an American, living
in the built environment that I do, I cannot at this point in time afford not
to have an automobile. This dependency is what traps us in the many forms of
complicity that whisper to me every day, “You are a hypocrite.”
These forms of dependency are
designed as such, not some social evolutionary accident. This precise system is
maintained and protected by those in power, because they are fully aware that
this is the architecture of their power.
Dependency is nested, dependencies
within dependencies within dependencies. Just as an unhappy wife might be trapped
in marriage to an unpleasant husband by her need for protection from other men
or her inability to earn enough to survive, the unhappy worker in the miserable
factory or hundred degree field is trapped by dependency, the mid-level manager
is trapped into being a prick to his subordinates—even when he hates it—by
dependency, the post-colonial nation is trapped by the need to get dollars to
pay international debts by dependency, and so on.
This is not saying each person is
independent of every other person. We know this is not true. Interdependency is
built in to human nature. But we are not speaking of the covenantal
relationships, the voluntary cooperation, the necessary divisions of labor
arrived at under no duress. Understand that the dominant class is dependent as
well. We pointed out earlier that the rich exist parasitically on the poor, and
the center nations exist parasitically on the marginal nations. A parasite depends on its host. The key thing to
look for is not interdependency, but
mutual dependency on an axis of domination
and subordination.
[1] Mirriam-Webster
[2] Weisz, “Combining Social Metabolism,”
Hornborg, et al, p. 289.
[3] Kwong, “The Chinese Face of
Neoliberalism,” Counterpunch, October
7, 2006.
[4]
http://www.academia.edu/28992453/The_Capitalocene_Part_II_Accumulation_by_Appropriation_and_the_Centrality_of_Unpaid_Work_Energy_final_pre-publication_
[5] Gilson and Milhaupt, “Economically
Benevolent Dictators,” Stanford
University, March 4, 2010.
[6] “First National Communication
Water Resources,” Jeddah Regional Climate
Center, 2017.
[7] Blas, “Saudi Wells Running Dry,” Bloomberg, November 3, 2015.
[8] High-quality, easily accessible,
low-sulfur oil.
[9] Press Release, Carbon Capture and Sequestration
Technologies, MIT, December 6, 2013.
[10] Wherey, “The Authoritarian Resurgence,”
Carnegie Endowment for International
Peace, April 15, 2015.
[11] Guccione, “Life After Death,” Spin, September 11, 2015.
[12] Williams, “The Role of
Deforestation,” Rethinking Environmental
History, Hornborg, et al, pp. 101-119, 2007.
[13] Levine, “Profit and Poverty fuel
Brazil deforestation,” WSWS, January
15, 2005.
[14] Brazilian Beef, 2017. http://www.brazilianbeef.org.br/
[15] Vidal, “The 7000km journey that
links Amazon destruction to fast food,” Guardian,
April 6, 2006.
[16] “Economic Statistics,” Infoplease, from UNDP Development
Report, 2007-8.
[17] Hornborg, Power of the Machine, p. 235.
[18] Polanyi, The Great Transformation, Beacon Press, 1944.
[19] Disgust is culturally constructed
and serves to emotionally police social boundaries, those boundaries between
what is considered clean and unclean. When I was an urban high school student
in the sixties, one of the most common insults thrown at people who appeared
unsophisticated was to be called “farmer.”
[20] Mies, et al, The Subsistence Perspective, p. 17, Zed Books, 2000.
[21] Illich, Rivers North of the Future, pp. 80-94.
[22] Illich, “Vernacular Values,” April
12, 1981. http://www.preservenet.com/theory/Illich/Vernacular.html#EMPIRE